by Max Monroe
“Honey, I’m home!” Cassie yelled. A familiar echoing thud filled my ears as she dropped her bags to the floor. “Where in the hell are you?”
“In here!” I called from the bathroom. My lashes fluttered as I tried to apply mascara without poking my eye out. I liked makeup, loved when someone helped me apply my makeup, but I wasn’t very good at doing it myself. Which was why if Cassie—the makeup guru—wasn’t around to help me get ready, I stuck with the basics.
“Aw, isn’t this sweet,” she said, resting her shoulder on the doorframe. “My little baby is all grown up, applying her own makeup and shit.”
“I even got my period last week, Mom,” I tossed back, my voice monotone. “I think I’m officially a woman.”
“What in the hell are you doing?” she scoffed, watching my reflection in the mirror. “Are you trying to remove your eyelid with that brush?”
See what I mean? Makeup and I weren’t all that great of friends.
Lipstick? Sure.
Blush? Yeah, okay.
Even mascara I could manage.
But anything else, I was pretty much incompetent.
“Give me that before you detach a retina.” She snatched the eye shadow brush from my hand.
I scrunched my nose. “What do you know about detached retinas?”
“I dated an optometrist like a million years ago and there was—” She stopped midsentence, taking in my narrow-eyed expression.
“Okay, if you want to be specific about it,” she amended. “I banged an optometrist a few times.”
“That’s better. Keep going,” I urged her.
“Well, there was an incident, and he freaked the hell out about my eye. Mumbling something about a detached retina.”
“Do I even want to know details?”
“If you don’t want to hear about how Wally’s giant penis poked me in the eye while he was com—”
“Yep.” I held up my hand, laughing. “I’m much better without.”
“I’ll tell ya one thing.” She smirked, resting her hip on the sink. “Wally was my first uncircumcised penis.”
I stared at her.
“What?” she asked, shrugging. “I felt like I was playing with one of those toys from the ‘90s. You know, the ones filled with water that would slip through your hands. I wasn’t prepared for the foreskin.” She looked off into space, thinking about God only knew what. “But once I got the hang—” She stopped, taking in my wordless expression.
Of course, internally, I was cracking up, but I knew Cass. Believe me, I had to disengage before she went any further. Because if she continued, we’d all know far too much about Wally.
“Geez, tough crowd,” she muttered, fiddling with my makeup and finding her choice in eye shadow color before gesturing to my eyes. “This color is all wrong, by the way. You have gorgeous blue eyes. You need something that’ll make ’em pop.”
She motioned for me to sit down.
I plopped my robe-covered butt on the closed toilet seat and waited patiently for her to work her magic.
“I was trying to do a smoky eye,” I admitted.
“Yeah, but these dark tones are all wrong,” she said, moving toward me with a color palette in hand. “You can do a smoky eye, but you need neutral tones. Otherwise, you’re just going to hide that spectacular blue.”
“Close ’em,” she instructed, brush held up close to my face.
I shut my eyes, sighing in relief. My best friend was home. Sure, we’d still managed to chat nearly every day through texts and short phone calls, but it wasn’t the same. Four weeks was a long fucking time.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she responded, a smile in her voice. “I’m happy you were actually going out and having fun while I was gone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I peeked at her out of my left eye.
She flashed an are you serious? look.
“I go out,” I disagreed. “I go out all the time. I party like a freakin’ rockstar!”
“Yeah.” She snorted. “A very poor rockstar, who isn’t in a band anymore, and starts yawning by nine and just wants to be home drinking wine.”
“I’m not like that all the time,” I denied, laughing despite myself. “But seriously, you’re never allowed to leave me again.”
The brush swiped over my left eyelid in smooth, sure movements.
“I wasn’t even gone for a month, and I’m here for tonight. Anyway, you were a busy little bee with your new boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. It felt weird to hear someone else call him that. In private, we’d exchanged the boyfriend/girlfriend sentiment frequently, but we were still keeping our relationship very much on the down low at work. My choice, of course. Kline was more than ready to make us public to everyone, but I just wasn’t in that place yet.
We had fallen into this relationship so quickly and I didn’t want to be rash about letting my coworkers know I was dating the boss. I couldn’t ignore that nagging thought in the back of mind that wanted to find a way to protect myself as much as possible if we didn’t work out—and protect myself from the shrieks of Dean if we did.
There was no denying we were together, but in a way, boyfriend didn’t feel like the right word for what Kline was to me. It was too small, too casual. In such a short amount of time, he’d become a huge part of my life.
The brush moved to my other lid, working a little quicker once Cassie had found her makeup-applying stride.
As I thought about Kline and me and everything we had together, a smile crept its way across my lips, until happiness consumed my entire mouth.
“Well, look at you, all smiley and smitten. By the looks of it, I’d say someone has got it bad.”
My cheeks flushed hot.
“Are you blushing, Wheorgie?”
“No.” My hands went straight to my cheeks. “I am most certainly not blushing.”
“Of course you’re not.” She laughed. “Tilt your head back.” She gripped my chin. “So, give me the scoop. What’s the boss really like?”
“He’s just… I don’t know even where to begin.” That smile was back, taking over my entire face—mouth, cheeks, even my eyes were crinkling at the corners.
“Dude, tone down the cheesy grin or else I’ll screw up your makeup.”
I laughed, despite myself. “Sorry, I can’t help it. I really like him, Cass.”
She paused for a second and my eyes opened, meeting her intrigued stare.
“What?” I asked, starting to feel self-conscious. “Does the smoky eye look stupid on me?”
She shook her head.
“Then what? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing. Close your eyes again so I can finish up. Other people need to get ready around here, you know,” she teased, her hip bumping my side.
I did as I was told and enjoyed the luxury of having someone else do the tedious task of applying eye shadow and liner.
“You know,” she whispered, “I think you’re holding back on me. I think—actually, I know—this thing between you and Kline, it’s a whole lot more than just like.”
“I said I really like him,” I retorted, my mouth staying in a flat line as she slid lipstick across my lips.
“I’m aware,” she said, her voice tickled with amusement. “But I think there’s another four-letter word rolling around in your brain.”
“Fuck?” I deadpanned.
“No, but how is the fucking? Is it everything you dreamed of when you were holding on to your coveted virginity?” she teased.
“Eh.” I feigned indifference. “I could take it or leave it.” I pulled the corners of my lips down into a pout, hiding another cheesy grin.
She snorted, taking in my absurd expression—smiling eyes, frowning mouth, and cheeks about to burst at the seams. “So, what I think you’re telling me is that he’s better than you could have ever imagined? Your Big-dicked Brooks billionaire can bring it.”
I shrugged, biti
ng back a laugh. “Something like that.”
“I knew it!” She fist pumped the blush brush. “I’m not one to say ‘I told you so,’ but yeah, I told you so!” Cassie danced around the bathroom, shaking her ass and laughing maniacally.
“All right, crazy. Less gloating, more fixing my makeup,” I demanded, giggling at her antics.
“I feel like we need a kitchen dance party to commemorate this momentous occasion,” she announced, still dancing around in the silent room.
Kitchen dance parties were our thing. We had been doing them since college. They were used for happy times, horrible times, and everything in between.
When Cass told her nasty professor to suck it? Kitchen dance party.
When I got the coveted internship I was striving for? Kitchen dance party.
A hot barista asked Cass out? Kitchen dance party.
The time I managed to do all of our laundry with four quarters? Epic kitchen dance party.
There were only three rules: Rotate who got dibs on the music selection. No boys allowed. And always bring your A-dancing-game.
Some of my fondest memories of college were with Cass, dancing around in our shitty apartment, singing our hearts out. God, this girl, she was my rock. My favorite person to vent to, cry with, and most importantly, laugh my ass off with. I wouldn’t have traded her for anything.
“All right, sweet cheeks, you’re all set,” she announced, smirking down at me. “And your makeup is looking pretty damn fabulous if I do say so myself.”
I stood, taking in my appearance in the mirror. I touched my cheeks as I examined the gorgeous shades highlighting my eyes. She was right; neutral was better.
“Now, I didn’t go crazy, just went with subtle and your signature bright red lips. I still wanted you to look like my Wheorgie.” She winked. “You’re gorgeous, friend. Absolutely stunning.”
Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you. I love you so much, Cass.”
“Love you too.” She hugged me back.
We rocked back and forth a few seconds, until I whispered, “You really dated an optometrist named Wally?”
“Banged.” She laughed, shoving me away. “There was no dating. His name was Wally, for fuck’s sake.”
I pointed at her, grinning. “You’re a troll.”
She was completely unfazed by this. “I’m fully aware. I will not make apologies for my need to judge men by their names.”
“That is so weird. You know that, right?”
While some women judge men by their looks or clothes or money, Cass judged them by their names. It was one of her little quirks and it was off-the-wall bizarre, but downright hilarious. I’d seen her in action far too many times, a man asking her out or offering to buy her a drink, and her response always depended on one thing: his name.
The name was always the make it or break it in Cass’s dating life scenarios.
“I know, but I can’t help it. I can’t bring myself to date, much less marry, someone named Wally or Toby or Cliff. Just—” She shudders. “Nope, no way. I’ll never do it.”
“I need to know how staunch you are on this mindset.” My hand went to my hip. “Let’s talk hypotheticals. What if Jude Law asked you to marry him, but his name was actually Morty Law?”
She grimaced. “Nope. Sorry, Morty. Take your adorable accent somewhere else.”
“What about Angus Efron?”
A look of disgust crossed her face. “I don’t care how much cheese he can grate on his abs. Not happening.”
I stared at her for a few seconds, deciding if I really wanted to do it.
Cassie eyed me with skepticism. “Don’t you dare.” She pointed in my direction. “Don’t even think about it.”
I nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across my lips.
“Georgia,” she warned.
“What if…” I smiled, tapping my chin. “Eugene Tatum—” she gasped “—was naked, asking you to marry him while grinding against you to ‘Pony’?”
Channing Tatum was Cass’s guy. He would always be at the top of her list. When Magic Mike had come out, we’d seen the movie not one, but two times on opening night because she was a total hornbag for him.
“I hate you.” A hand towel was tossed into my face. “I’m going to forget you ever said that,” she grumbled, striding into the hallway.
Of course, I followed her. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“You know? I think Eugene looked hotter in Magic Mike XXL.”
“Georgia!” Cassie threw her hands up in the air.
I leaned against the doorway as she rummaged through her closet. “What? I really think his stripteases were way sexier. Eugene can bring it. That’s for damn sure.”
“I will not let you ruin Tatum for me.”
“I’d never—” I raised both hands in the air “—ruin the appeal of Eugene Fillmore Tatum.”
“Oh my gawd!” She placed her hands tightly over her ears, la-la-la-ing to tune me out.
I laughed the entire way to my bedroom.
Standing in front of my closet, I was wavering between about fifty different options. I wanted to look cute—no, I wanted to look sexy. I wanted Kline to be eating…out of the palm of my hand. I swear that was where I was headed with that.
I needed a guy’s opinion.
TAPRoseNEXT (5:30PM): Psst…Ruck…Come in, Ruck.
BAD_Ruck (5:32PM): Need something, Rose?
TAPRoseNEXT (5:33PM): Little black dress (open back) and red heels OR black leather pants and lace top?
BAD_Ruck (5:34PM): Neither. Clothes aren’t needed in bed. Anyway, lace isn’t really my style.
TAPRoseNEXT (5:34PM): This isn’t the bed game. I need a guy’s opinion on outfit choices.
BAD_Ruck (5:36PM): You meeting your Some Kind of Wonderful tonight?
TAPRoseNEXT (5:37PM): You bet ya.
BAD_Ruck (5:37PM): You’re really into this guy.
TAPRoseNEXT (5:38PM): Are you asking or telling?
BAD_Ruck (5:39PM): Both.
TAPRoseNEXT (5:41PM): For your information, Mr. Nosy, yes, I’m really into this guy. I’m meeting him for drinks later. And I want a guy’s opinion on women’s attire for date nights.
BAD_Ruck (5:42PM): Which shows the least amount of skin?
TAPRoseNEXT (5:43PM): Leather and lace.
BAD_Ruck (5:44PM): That’s the one.
TAPRoseNEXT (5:45PM): Really?
BAD_Ruck (5:47PM): Less is more when it comes to showing skin. There are certain parts of you he wants to be the only one to see.
TAPRoseNEXT (5:48PM): I said the dress had an “open back” not open crotch.
BAD_Ruck (5:51PM): Just trust me, Rose. This is sound advice. I promise.
TAPRoseNEXT (5:52PM): Okay, okay. Leather and lace it is. Big plans tonight?
BAD_Ruck (5:53PM): Maybe…
TAPRoseNEXT (5:54PM): Your own version of Some Kind of Wonderful?
BAD_Ruck (5:55PM): Something like that. Be good tonight, Rose.
TAPRoseNEXT (5:56PM): You too, Ruck.
A part of me felt bad for still messaging Ruck, but we’d fallen into this odd sort of friendship, mostly chatting about one another’s dating lives. We never attempted to take things to another level, never tried to meet in person. It had become a sort of unspoken rule since we were both involved with someone else.
I tossed my phone on the bed and grabbed my favorite leather pants and lace blouse. It was black with three-quarter-length sleeves, and the top revealed just enough skin to show off a bit of cleavage.
The only other things I needed were the Dolce & Gabbana leather booties I’d found a week and a half ago in SoHo. They had been a secondhand purchase, and a splurge at that, but I loved them.
“Georgia?” Cassie called from the hall.
“Yeah?”
“What time are we meeting Kline?”
“Not until eight-ish. I figured we could have a little girl time beforehand.”
“I’m in.” The bar in question specialized in shots. One in particular came with fire and was famously known as the Harry Potter.
If you’ve never been to Barcelona Bar, add it to your bucket list. It’s not the bar you hang out in all night, but it’s definitely the place you stop by to get your night started off right.
My screen flashed with a text message notification.
Kline: 8pm at The Raines Law Room?
Holy hell. It was one of those bars that had a secret door, and if you don’t know somebody, no way you’re getting in. It was a very unlike Kline place to go.
Me: Uh…pretty sure I don’t have VIP access there.
Kline: Well, don’t worry, because I do.
Me: Kline flaunting his money around? Are you feeling okay?
Kline: Not flaunting. Just using it to our advantage. Anyway, Will was pretty persistent since he’s never been.
I should’ve known my brother was behind it. If Will had Kline’s money, he wouldn’t have any damn money left. Good thing Will would earn a nice salary as a physician and be too busy taking care of patients to spend it all. Where I was more frugal like our father, he was impulsive like our mother—a true American consumer who could easily be talked into buying a new car or plasma screen TV on a whim.
And I mean all of this in the most loving way.
Me: Okay. Count me in. Cass will be with me.
Kline: Perfect. Meet me there at 8. I’ll leave your names at the door.
Me: Okay, I’ll let Will know.
Kline: No need. He’s with me now.
Me: WHAT? Are you having a bromance with my brother?
Kline and Will had finally met over lunch last week in Gramercy Park. It had taken about one minute of introductions and they were quickly bonding over rugby, scotch, and awkward stories about yours truly. By the end of the meal, they had exchanged numbers and my brother had enthusiastically agreed to guest play for Kline’s rugby team the following weekend.